


(So Let the Record Show) I Never Let You Go

by sundayrain26



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Basically the cloak and Stephen flirt, Condoms, Cunnilingus, Eventual Sex, Everyone Is Alive, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It may go further than that, Lube, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Polyamory, Possible sexual involvement of the cloak??, Romantic involvement with the cloak, Self-Destruction, Trans Male Character, Trans Tony Stark, Vaginal Sex, sentient cloak, so be prepared
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundayrain26/pseuds/sundayrain26
Summary: The dust has settled. The world has been saved.But who will save Tony Stark from himself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the first IronStrange piece I started! It's clearly still a work in progress. I just felt I could start throwing out a few chapters.
> 
> Do be aware that this will eventually become explicit and Tony in this story will be depicted as a transgender man. He has a vagina and I will refer to it as such. If any of these things bother you, I would prefer you skip this story entirely. I will not tolerate rude or hateful comments.

The dust has settled. The world has been saved.

The wedding's been called off. Pepper finally reached the end of her last rope and left. Tony's sure it's for good this time and he can't bring himself to begrudge her that. He never deserved her anyhow.

He is left with enough things to ponder in her absence. Philosophical things that tend to arise after an ordeal like the one they'd all been through with Thanos. Fucking ball-chinned asshole.

He can't get it out of his head. The pain claws at him from the inside out as though his heart is carving itself from his body. The sight of Peter dissolving away in his arms continues to haunt him from the darkness of his closed eyelids. The guardians disappearing one by one. Strange’s somber reassurance that it was the only way.

The nightmares are nothing new. Lord knows he's had his fair share of anxiety. The subject matter, however, is fresh, intermingled with old favorites. Every single traumatic experience in his life is fair game, contorted into new amalgamations of terror.

It's so much worse than it had ever been. Even after the portal in New York. No, it was more like Wanda’s manipulation met a wild, rabid dog. On steroids. He had _actually_ lost everything. Everyone. Sure they'd managed to fix that but hell if it took away the memories.

He has the strongest desire to corral the entire lot of them up and just watch them so he _knew_ they were safe. All of them. Even Steve and his crazy assassin boyfriend. Maybe he could build a bubble. Ecosystem and all, perfectly isolated and perfectly safe, damnit.

Anyway, the nightmares. That's what he's running away from, holed up in his lab to tinker away. It's been more hours than he can count and he's only awake by the grace of chemical aid. He doesn't need sleep anymore, he's decided. Self prescribed insomnia. Just what the doctor ordered.

He's feeling distinctly mad scientist, emphasize on the _mad_. He's just in the process of throwing some holograms together, laying out the groundwork for something new, when he catches a sound that tickles the back of his mind. Before he can place it or find the source, there's a voice.

“Trying to run yourself into the ground Stark?”

He turns in time to see the shimmering orange of a portal disappear and the man that had come through it.

His voice is sharp and tired, “The fuck you doing in my lab Strange?” He doesn't have the energy for dealing with people.

Strange takes a few nonchalant steps, letting his eyes catalog the space. Tools and scraps in disarray, screens and holograms everywhere. Though he's sure there usually is, presently, there doesn't seem to be much method to Tony's madness. “Hm. Your AI seemed to think you needed some.. assistance.”

“Seriously FRIDAY?” His teeth grind together.

“Sorry sir, but you've not slept in 54 hours. I do have protocols in place to protect you from yourself.”

Tony thumps his head once on the table, sighs and looks at his unwelcome visitor. “What're you gonna do Strange, carry me out of here, tuck me into bed and read me a bedtime story?”

A single eyebrow lifts, effecting an unimpressed stare. “Really?” He comes closer, the cloak around him shivering in a manner that suggests irritability. “You save the universe and now you're just going to self destruct?”

“Maybe I am. What's it to you magic man?"

“It's just an awfully selfish choice for a man like you.”

“News flash doc, I am selfish.”

His face softens minutely. “No you aren't. Not like that.”

The look feels like pity. He can't help lashing out. “You want the truth? I have so many drugs on board I couldn't fall asleep if you force fed me downers!”

A grimace. “It's a miracle you haven't given yourself a heart attack.”

“Maybe that's what I want!” He snaps, a wildness gleaming in his eyes.

“You don't mean that,” is the quiet answer. “Will you humor me and at least come sit down.”

Somehow Tony contains the quip that he's been sitting, thanks. The pain is overwhelming; anxiety is making his hands shake. His forehead tips forward to rest in his hand in defeat. He can't do this. Words won't come so he just gives his head a jerky nod.

Stephen's heart clenches in his chest. He doesn't say a word as he approaches Tony, carefully making his footsteps audible. He offers a gentle hand at the man's elbow, coaxing him to his feet. “Come on Tony,” he murmurs softly. The man is quaking beneath his touch, shoulders tense with panic, head low with defeat.

It takes some doing, physically supporting half of Tony's weight while feeding him nonsense platitudes. FRIDAY intuitively offers guidance to Tony's bedroom; the man himself is in no shape to help.

Stephen deposits Tony on the edge of the bed and begins a quick exam, checking heart rate, pupils, anything he can without equipment. The man seems fine for the time being, at least physically. Silent tears track down his face as his breaths come too quickly. With the efficacy of a medical professional, he removes Tony's shoes, shirt and pants, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs. He nearly removes those as well, considering they've likely been on at least as long as Tony had been awake but decides to leave him with the illusion of modesty.

He turns back the bed and nudges Tony into place so he can pull the covers back up around him. The eyes that stare back at him are a little wild, a lot disbelieving.

“Strange,” his voice comes as a hoarse croak.

“Hush. Try to get some rest.” Stephen lets his trembling fingers brush hair from Tony's forehead and gently stroke to settle it down. He summons a chair to the bedside and settles into it. “I'm not going anywhere.”

It's a promise and a threat all at once, warning Tony to stay where he is but also that he's _here for him_.

Tony rolls to face away from Stephen and lets his tears soak into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how I feel about the title for this piece?? If you have ideas, feel free to toss 'em at me. If I wind up changing the title, I'll make a big note in the summary saying as much.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the title has grown on me, it's here to stay. I got it from Adam Lambert's [Things I Didn't Say](https://youtu.be/KeOM-EfGvGk)

The nightmare that comes is a new iteration. Stephen is there. He stays true to his word, protecting the time stone with his life, all of their lives.

He's gasping, gurgling on the blood bubbling up his throat as the man holds him, apology after empty apology. But Stephen's pressing hands over his stab wound, a hopeless attempt to stem the bleeding. His head lolls uselessly and his eyes fall on Peter's lifeless body, glazed over eyes staring eerily into space. His struggling heart clenches. He physically can't move to see the guardians lying in disarray, he doesn't want to see the blood and gore anyway.

Tony doesn't even realise his eyes have closed until Stephen is frantically shaking his shoulder, yelling his name.

His eyes crack open again. It's so hard to breath, talking isn't even a possibility.

“God, Tony, I'm so sorry,” Stephen sobs, folding over him, lips pressing to his forehead.

The last thing he sees is blood spattering from Stephen's mouth, eyes wide in horror.

Tony jumps with the hugest gasp, scrambling out of bed. He needs to get away. Before his body hits the floor, something soft cushions him and folds gently around him. “Ah! What the hell?”

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and full body flinches so hard it hurts.

“Anthony.” Gentle but unsteady hands touch his hair, stroke to the side of his head, his neck. “It's okay, everything is okay, I promise. You're safe. Everyone is safe.”

Stephen. The softness around him, he glances, the wizard's cloak, is moving, shifting until he's resting on the bed again. It coils firmly around his body and it feels like an attempt at _comfort_. His breathing is erratic but calming. He can't bring himself to speak, just lets the man quietly pet his hair.

He's nearly lulled back to sleep. “Why are you doing this?” His voice warbles a little with the emotion brought forth with the panic.

Strange's hand stills. “Because you need it.” The cloak trails a corner along his cheek, wiping away a stray tear he hadn't noticed fall.

Tears continue to seep from his closed eyelids and the cloak continues to catch each one. The hand that had been in his hair is gone, but he can still feel the man nearby, standing guard like a sentry. He doesn't remember letting himself fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

When he comes to again, it's calmer, quieter. He can feel the cloak fluttering gently around him; it must have been holding him the entire time. He's not sure how to feel about that. It kind of makes his heart hurt.

He sighs and turns, curling in on himself. The cloak adjusts, staying close all around him. Tony presses his face to the fabric, takes in the scent there. Something just faintly dusty, reminiscent of books. It's oddly soothing and he can't bring himself to get up.

The sound of movement in the room makes him tense. He swears the cloak is rippling over him, stroking his hair, his shoulder.

“It's just me. Tony, it's okay.”

Stephen. Of course. “Why haven't you and your glorified blanket left yet?”

A pause. “I've already told you.”

“Sure.” Tony shifts and makes himself sit up, the cloak still molding to him and offering support. He runs his fingers over a piece of the fabric in silent gratitude.

He's out of things to say and, after a beat, just moves so he can get up and make his way to the ensuite. He can feel the cloak behind him, shadowing him until he closes the door on it.

Stephen doesn't bother trying to tell the cloak to back off. Tony needs it. He does give it a gentle warning, however, when it tries to reach an edge under the door. “Privacy.”

He hears the shower kick on and checks the time. Tony's slept through most of the day and it's technically too late for breakfast but when has that ever stopped anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been at a little bit of a standstill writing this. Trying to decide what way I want interactions to go, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much all I have written up for this story so the next update may take a bit longer ^^

The water doesn't go hot enough. And he designed the damn shower himself. He keeps turning the knob farther and farther to the left, to no avail. He swears FRIDAY has to be screwing with the system to keep him from scalding himself.

He winds up leaning against the tiled wall, forehead to the back of his forearm, water pelting down his side.

Curse him for ever having any semblance of self preservation.

Tony drags his way through the process of washing himself, cutting corners because who cares.

When he finally steps back into his bedroom tucking a fluffy towel around his hips, he has to do a double take. Wizard and living blanket are both still there, but he's not as surprised at that as he should be. The real shocker is the spread of food near his bed: pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, bagels, bananas, potatoes. He squints with suspicion but walks over, wet hair dripping on his shoulders. “Doesn't seem your style doc, that's an awful lot of waste for one guy.”

Strange's head tilts. With a wave of his hand, more than half of the food vanishes.

Tony frowns but edges up to see what's left. He's not sure how, but the man has left everything that's both bad for him and his favorites. “How did you do that?”

“Hmm, do what? I just sent the excess to a homeless shelter.”

“That's.. not what I meant.” He turns away from the food to fully face the man.

Stephen's eyes widen innocently. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean then.”

Tony's eyes darken but he gives up and puts together a plate of cheesy eggs, sausage, and potatoes. He stares at the food a moment and twitches when a glass of orange juice materializes. “Seriously?” He's getting irritated.

“What? You're not getting coffee.”

His jaw tightens but he keeps his mouth shut. At least until a chair appears behind him, nudging at the back of his knees to make him sit. He swivels to look at Strange with fire in his eyes but the man beats him to complaining.

“Was I incorrect in assuming you don't wish to eat your breakfast in bed?”

Tony is left floundering, mouth opening and closing like the idiot he knows he is. “I - you - I, _excuse me._ ”

The cloak that had been hanging nearby has suddenly folded around his shoulders, oblivious to the damp skin and drops falling on it. It quivers, tilting the collar as if asking a question to the man glaring down at it.

Tony tries to shrug it off; it just curls closer. He refuses to think of it snuggling up to him but damn if it isn't what it feels like.

Whatever.

“You've got a damn clingy cloak, Strange.” He's still irritated but starts in on his food.

Stephen watches, stays silent, but keeps regenerating small portions of the food on Tony's plate.The man doesn't notice until his half empty orange juice is suddenly full again.

He turns on him, mouth full of cheesy eggs, nostrils flaring.

“It's just concerned about you,” Stephen offers in explanation to the cloak.

Tony nearly chokes on his food, struggling to get it out of his way. The cloak in question taps him on the back. “I'm _eating_. You don't need to try to trick more food into me!” He takes handfuls of his damp hair and _pulls_ , turns back to his food and mutters, “Making me feel like I'm losing _my goddamn mind,_ Strange.” Even quieter, “More than I already have.”

Shit.

Stephen feels an instant pang of remorse. “Tony, I am so sorry.” His voice is low, carrying a sorrowful tone that Tony can't handle right now.

“Stop.” The forcefulness behind his plea surprises even himself. “Please.. just don't.” He picks at his plate, appetite lost.

Silence hangs between them. Stephen moves into Tony's line of sight, hands spread in capitulation. “No more tricks, Tony, I swear it.”

A humorless laugh forces itself out Tony's lips. “No more tricks from the wizard. _Whatever_.” He tosses down his fork in frustration. “Just stop. Stop pretending like you care. Like this isn't some convoluted moral obligation for you.”

Stephen's face falls. He looks _hurt_. That can't be right. “Tony,” he trails off, at a loss for words. He wishes he could explain. “Tony, I'm not pretending, this isn't.. I can't explain why, I'm not permitted to do so. Just,” he deep breath, “just please believe me when I say I would protect you with my life.”

”Yeah, you already did that!”

A small huff of frustration. “I was right there with you, I know.”

Tony's vision flashes red. “Huh uh, no you weren't. You _died_. You copped out.”

“I did it because I had to,” his words come out slowly like he's speaking to a small child.

Oh no, he's not going to be talked down to. He does enough of that to himself. “Get out.” Tony is proud that his voice doesn't waver.

The cloak curls closely around his torso like a hug. It's collar shakes an adamant _no_.

Stephen just stares at him, unable to speak and unwilling to move.

Tony wants to scream and yell and kick something.

Instead he extricates his arms from the cloak and pushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until splotches of color blot out the blackness of his eyelids. He growls, hands balling up into fists until he's pulling at handfuls of his own hair, pinpoints of fire across his scalp. He holds the pressure so long his grumbling blends into a high keening whine. When he shows no sign of letting go, the cloak twists around his wrists, hitting just the right spot to make him let go. It brings his hands down to his lap and gently holds them there. Tony's eyes have gone misty.

His attention is drawn to the quiet shuffling across the room. The good doctor is methodically opening dresser drawers. When he turns back, he has sweatpants, a t-shirt and clean underwear folded in his hands. Stephen places the clothing at the foot of the bed without saying a word and walks out of the bedroom.

The cloak doesn't so much as twitch; Stephen must not actually be leaving. He sincerely doubts the man would leave the precious relic in his unsupervised custody. Although it doesn't seem too keen to leave him.

He's pretty indifferent to whether or not he's properly dressed so he just stays where he is and lets the cloak do that funny ripply thing around him that feels a little like petting. As he calms, a heavy sigh leaves him.

“I'm a mess, aren't I?”

Fabric pats his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know if either of these guys feel off to you as you read this. I really want to do them both justice.
> 
> Also, I'm not familiar with any rules or restrictions, etc that Stephen is bound to regarding his magic and telling others about things (specifically alternate timelines here). I imagine he's just throwing it out as an excuse, something to hide behind. I'm sure Tony will figure it out eventually, being the clever boy he is.


	4. Chapter 4

His mind is working in overdrive. Resolutely ignoring his own problems, of course, he's stuck considering his uninvited, magical visitor. He's a puzzle. Gone from a forced alliance to taking time away from.. whatever it is that he does to babysit his sorry ass. What short straw did Strange draw?

But then there's the raw emotion on display. Last he was aware, the man had previously been a doctor not an actor.

And there's the cloak that's currently tucked around him like a blanket where he's sprawled across the bed to factor in. It seems sentient enough but, for the most part, it seems to do what its master wishes it to. Had Strange told it to watch over him or had it taken a liking to him all on its own?

He supposes he could just ask it.

“Hey, uh, cloak?” The thing shivers a bit, the collar tilting. “Yeah. So. Did Strange convince you to do this? I mean all the coddling and snuggling and stuff.” He's fiddling with an edge of the fabric, smoothing his fingers over it repeatedly.

The cloak seems to _think_ about it, hovering a bit. The collar dips down as if it's shy before flapping out a _no_.

Huh.

“You hesitated. What was that?” He's not sure what he's expecting, asking something that can't be answered yes or no, but he can't stop the words. “You're not an extension of him right? Like, you have your own free will?”

It nods, nestling down flush to Tony's skin again.

“So, in theory, one of you could love me and the other one could hate me, yeah?”

The collar wobbles in a tentative agreement.

“But you wouldn't want to act in opposition of him. Not without reason. You guys are a team.”

A more confident _yes_.

Okay. He feels like he's getting somewhere. Tony rolls over and, having given in to the cloak's persistent affection, snuggles into the material. His eyes grow heavy and gradually drift shut while he mulls it over.

 

* * *

 

The nightmares that tease his mind are almost gentle enough to be called dreams. He forgets what startles him out of it as soon as he gasps awake. His whole body jerks but he stays flat on the bed. Before he can push himself upright, he feels the cloak carefully curling around him, a gentle steadying pressure. Breath huffs from him as he fights back the anxiety with his eyes squeezed shut. He blindly pats the cloak in gratitude. “Shit.”

The panic begins to subside and he realizes that the towel around him has wriggled lose while he slept. He can be naked if he wants to, dangit. The cloak has him covered anyway so it's a wash. Tony sits up and scrubs his hands over his face. It's still just him and the cloak in his room. He really can't consider himself completely alone with the animated blanket around; bless it for staying glued to his side.

At least Strange took the hint and is leaving him alone. No doubt he's still around somewhere in his home. “Hey FRIDAY, where's Strange?”

“Doctor Strange is the living area. He appears to be meditating.”

“Of course he is,” Tony mutters, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The clothes Stephen left for him are still neatly folded on the bed. He reaches for them and quietly dresses while he walks to the bathroom. A quick pee and toothbrush and he's venturing out the bedroom door before he loses his nerve. The cloak shadows him. When he hesitates long enough to miss a step, it folds over his shoulders. He feels ridiculous wearing what more or less amounts to a cape. Especially with his sweats. But he can't deny feeling a little safer with it there.

He cranes his neck to peek at it and murmurs a soft, “Thanks.” He wants to call it something. Maybe he can ask it about that later.

The longer he stands here, the less he wants to move forward. He starts to turn a little, “Maybe I'll just go back to.. hey!” The cloak holds steady, keeping his back to the bedroom door. When he doesn't move anymore, it pushes him forward a few inches. “Geez, fine.” He shrugs his shoulders at it to emphasize his discontent.

He shuffles down the hall, purposefully not picking up his feet like a petulant child.

The drag of his bare feet on the floor must tip the doctor off because the man's eyes open as he moves into the room. He tracks Tony's progress through the space but doesn't say a word. Even the presence of the cloak on his shoulders doesn't seem to phase him.

Tony sniffs and shifts his weight restlessly. “So, what, you live here now?”

Stephen's hands settle in his lap where his legs are neatly folded beneath him. “I thought I made it clear that I'm not going anywhere.”

“Oh, that meant ever? Guess I must've missed that part.” He meanders to a chair across from where Stephen is settled on the floor near the couch. Instead of sitting in the chair an adult, he perches on the arm. He nearly sits on the cloak but flicks it out of the way at last second.

The silence between them stretches as Stephen gathers his words. “Tony.” A pause to take a breath. Send him patience. “I want you to know that you're not alone. You don't have to be alone anymore.”

“What, like you're just going to hang around for the rest of my life?” Impossible.

“Certainly if that's what you need.”

His eyes squint as though that will reveal the man's motives. “You can't just put your life on hold to hold my hand.”

Stephen shrugs a little. “Wong owes me.”

Tony shakes his head, leaning precariously forward; he can feel the cloak holding counterbalance to keep him from toppling on his face. “That doesn't explain _why_ you feel the need to do this.” An edge of desperation is creeping into his voice.

“Because it's what you deserve.” His eyes, which has fallen to examine his hands, come to to meet Tony's with a burning intensity. “It is my desire to provide you with the care that you deserve.”

The cloak gives his shoulders a soft squeeze that he barely feels through the numb, buzzing of disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no sex. This is highly unusual for me. I swear it is planned. Trust me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a shorter one this time. I was going to combine this with the next part but it was getting quite long so you get this little tidbit for now (:

He's in shock. That a declaration so simple can send Tony into such a state has Stephen off kilter. It takes him a solid minute to recognize what's happening and make himself stand; it's abysmal. “Tony.” He's in front of the man in moments, pushing back on one shoulder where he's curling in on himself and pressing a hand to the side of his face. The name comes out with more force than he intended, “ _Anthony_.”

The world comes to him as though it's through water. Sound is muffled, his skin is numb. His vision is half gray and swimming. He can make out vague facial features. A mouth moving. Suddenly he can hear his name and everything floods in at once, too quick and loud and bright. He gasps, jerking away. The cloak keeps him from falling back on the floor.

“I've got you, you're okay. Tony, listen to me.”

Hands touch, pull him closer until there are arms, strong around him, his face pressed into a shoulder. He doesn't dare move.

All the resolve Stephen had built up is beginning to crumble. It physically hurts him to see Tony like this. He cups a hand behind the man's head, gently stroking his hair. “I have you.” His mouth falls to Tony's unruly bedhead, not quite a kiss but there all the same.

It's Stephen. Stephen is the one that has him, he realizes. His face is wet. He must be crying. Again. The thought makes his face scrunch and rends violent sobs up from deep in his chest. He doesn't know, doesn't understand _ why _ Stephen cares so much, but he can feel it. It's painful like blood rushing back to a numb, deadened limb. He tries to speak but he's quivering too strongly to shape even a single syllable. He remembers his body and his arms come up to grip at the front of Stephen's robes, fists contorting the fabric.

“Hush now, I have you. Tony, baby, you're okay.” The term of endearment slips and he can't bring himself to regret it. The dam has broken and with it come an endless stream of reassurances and pet names: darling, love, baby, honey, sweetheart, dear, dove. He can't stop.

He doesn't want to stop.

When Tony's brain finally begins to process the words flowing from Stephen's mouth, his body tenses. His mind must not be functioning. The physical affection he can disregard, to a degree. It's human nature to comfort. Even some of the platitudes can be written off. But this. Stephen is speaking to him like a loved one. Holding him like it's as much a comfort to Stephen as it is to Tony. His hands are locked, white-knuckled, clenched as they are around handfuls of Stephen's clothing. He can't let go.

He doesn't want to let go.

Slowly, he calms, head on Stephen's shoulder, snotty red face pressed against his throat. He feels vaguely mortified for having slobbered and snotted all down the front of another person. The fact that it's Stephen doesn't make that particularly better or worse. The guy doesn't seem to mind. Or perhaps he yet to notice the extent of the damage.

As loathe as he is to move, he's acutely aware of his face further smearing the mess around. It's unpleasant at best. As Tony pulls his face away from Stephen, an unfortunate string of  _ something _ hangs between his mouth and the man's robes. His nose wrinkles and he keeps his eyes downcast as the strand of mucus breaks. He snuffles, so entirely congested that he can barely breathe. When he finally speaks, it's nasally and quiet. “Uh. Sorry about..,” he trails off and gestures in the general direction of the man's upper torso. “That."

Stephen only smiles a little sadly, tracing his thumb along the edge of Tony's trademark goatee. Tony refuses to look at his face. “Anthony,” he's whisper quiet, “you've nothing to apologise for.” Slowly, sweetly, he leans in to press their foreheads together.

Tony finally lifts his eyes to see the face so close to his. In doing so, their noses touch and his mouth abruptly goes dry. The tenderness of Stephen's hands cupping his neck, his face resonates with him. Tony may not understand  _ why _ but damn if he's not convinced that Stephen Strange is  _ in love _ with him.

He'd have to be a damn daft idiot to not see the man's beauty. The deeper glimpses into his nature had shown a man to match the pretty shell. Of course the thrill of having a snappy, quick-witted tongue fit to match his own is undeniable. Tony may have developed a soft spot for the wizard.

Fuck.

It's like gravity; there's no fighting it. Tony's eyes flutter shut as he presses his mouth to the corner of Stephen's lips. Just a chaste, close mouthed thing, but he lingers so their lips brush when he murmurs, “Thank you.”


	6. Chapter 6

They fall into a pattern with very little effort. Stephen is just.. there. Every day. Without fail. The cloak doesn't really leave him either. Tony thinks it must be the thing's most insignificant assignment in its existence. He's said as much to it before and it had seemed terribly offended. His opinion still stands.

It doesn't take him long to realize that Stephen leaves after he falls asleep. Not every time, mind, but frequently enough. Within the first week, he takes note of Stephen's sudden reappearances when he rouses from sleep, sometimes accompanied by the telltale sound or glow of a portal. He must have some kind of magic on him to monitor his sleep patterns. Or maybe he's just sweet talked FRIDAY into feeding him his vitals. Both are equally probable.

He doesn't care enough to ask or even check the programming on his own AI.

To be honest, he's not sure when the man himself sleeps. At first, when he wasn't running off somewhere, he wouldn't sleep at night, just sit and serve as a sentry over Tony. He caught him doing that creepy astral thing while his body slept and that's when he convinced Stephen if he's going to stick around, he can at least sleep in the damn bed. He's not going to drug himself into oblivion the second he's left unsupervised. He knows it was a dumb tactic and he's had the lecture, thanks. More than once. Anyway, it took some doing but, honestly, the bed is big enough for three grown men and then some. They can make it work. He's caught Stephen asleep a few times since then, in the night when he's managed to wake without tripping whatever alarm is set on him.

He's really begun to look forward to those nights. Stephen is a sight to behold, soft and relaxed with sleep, not wearing his intricate robes but simple pajamas. Sometimes even Tony's pajamas, even though the pants are several inches too short. Tony just lies there awake and observant until he loses the battle to keep his eyes open.

There's brief moments of affection between them, usually when Tony is stricken with anxiety. Reluctant though he is to admit it, he _enjoys_ it, actually finds himself wishing for more. He tries not to think about it, instead lets himself lean into the touches, seek out proximity when he's feeling lonely. It's a shy, almost coy dance between them, like awkward teenagers learning how to love.

 

* * *

 

They're sitting together, close enough to touch but not touching. Stephen has a book, something magical with lettering that makes his head hurt and Tony has his tablet, fiddling with schematics and plans. His leg rattles restlessly as he flicks repeatedly between the same few items. His mind is utterly distracted. Before he can lose his nerve, he slides a hand over, wordlessly taking Stephen's hand in his own, his jaw tight with anticipation. The man lowers his book to study his face a moment. The tiniest smile pulls at his lips and he gives Tony's hand a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Tony is able to breath again, quietly settling to work one-handed as Stephen's thumb traces shapes over the back of his hand.

After that, casual touches invade most of their interactions. A hand on a shoulder, an elbow, their legs pressed together, a skim of fingertips through hair. Tony can't help thinking the cloak seems awfully pleased. Daft, conniving piece of outerwear. It still coddles him, but it also seems determined to push him closer to the good doctor. It's too damn observant for something lacking eyes.

He does talk to the thing, though, when they're alone. When Stephen is still _around_ , lingering, but giving him space. It's surprisingly intelligent and has even lent a hand, so to speak, in his workshop. It and Dum-E get on like siblings, getting along well enough but antagonizing the heck out of each other. He's had to send them to different corners. It's kind of cute.

One such day, when he's tired of yelling Dum-E and Cloak, he goes to the thing. “Hey. Cloak. You have a name?”

It wobbles out a yes.

Tony thinks about that. “The Cloak of Levitation doesn't count.” It flaps around like it's agitated. “No. That's a title, not a name.”

It gives an irritated flick at his ear.

“What about Strange? Does he not call you anything?”

The cloak does that thing where it wibbles about like a person hemming and hawing.

“Nope. Hey, none of that.” He leans back in the chair he's occupying, considering the fabric floating in front of him. He squints and jumps to his feet and the thing startles back. “Nah, you're fine.” Tony starts walking over to something and it trails behind him. “You wanna talk?”

The cloak tilts so severely that it's nearly sideways.

Tony laughs. “Yeah I mean _talk_.” He fiddles with something. “Okay, maybe not directly with sound, not right away. But communication. With words.”

An enthusiastic _yes_.

He pats at the fabric as it swings around to hover by his shoulder. “Try this.” Tony holds up a large tablet. It has an oversized keyboard on it and a display for what's being typed out. “Just.. touch the letters you want.”

The cloak vibrates a moment before swaying closer. It lifts up a corner, forms a small point and pokes at the screen. **H - E - L - L - O.** It hangs back and Tony turns the screen to face him.

His face breaks out in a huge grin. “Hi, buddy. Good job.” Excited, he starts cruising around the lab in search of something. The cloak trails him, curious. Dum-E is watching from its corner. “Ah ha!” The cloak watches over Tony’s shoulder as he rigs up a stand for the tablet. Satisfied, he presents it to the cloak with a flourish. “Have at it. So what is it that Strange calls you, huh?”

The cloak had been hovering right up on the tablet falls back. It looks embarrassed.

“Nuh uh, come on. I gave you words, use them.”

It motions like it's giving a raspberry.

“Really? That's how you're gonna act? I could just ask him myself, you know.”

“Ask me what?”

“Jeez!” Tony jumps hard enough to bump his arm on the table next to him. “I need to put a bell on you.”

Stephen just grins a little wryly, “You think I'd keep it on?”

He doesn't honor that with a response. “I rigged up way for the cloak to talk.” Tony turns to the cloak in question. “Go on, show him.”

The thing flutters a little in a way that conveys excitement as Strange shifts his attention to it. **H - E - L - L - O**.

“That all you have to say?” He looks to Stephen by means of explanation, “It just said that.”

Stephen just shrugs. “Hey. You like having words to use?”

It nods.

Tony looks a little mischievous as the cloak joins Stephen, affectionately shimmying up close to him. “So I was asking the cloak if it had a name. If you call it anything.” He watches Strange pet the cloth before becoming distracted. “It seemed.. embarrassed.” He swears the man's face has gone pink. Tony's head tilts as he observes them. “So do you.”

“I, it's, uh, i-it,” Stephen honest to God stutters. It's the most humanizing thing Tony's ever seen. Also pretty endearing.

“Yeah?”

“It's nothing _bad_.” He glances at the cloak as it settles on his shoulders and mutters at it, “Well, you're no help.”

“Are you gonna tell me or just skate around the subject?” Tony is feeling particularly smug, watching Stephen squirm.

“Fine.” His eyes roll skyward. “If I call it anything, it's usually Levi.”

A slow nod, waiting, giving the man ample opportunity to finish. “And? What about the rest of the time?” He knows there's more to the story. Yeah, Stephen is definitely red in the face now.

He mumbles unintelligibly. The cloak pinches his shoulders and he shoos it off. “Oh hush.” Stephen pushes a stray bit of hair from his face. “You really want to know? I call him my Sexy Red. He _likes it_ , alright?”

Tony holds his laughter in as long as he can, but it comes bursting out with a painful force. “Seriously? That's what you two are so embarrassed about? We all know the cloak is a sassy little fiend.”

The thing seems to puff up in defiance. It surges over to Tony and flicks him in the face.

Tony just laughs even more. “Case in point!”

The cloak falls back, crossing it's corners like disgruntled arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hint of backstory for Stephen and the cloak~

The longer he dwells on the cloak’s pet name, the more inquisitive he becomes. Stephen has made himself scarce and the cloak refuses the topic altogether.

Tony’s not a particularly patient man.

He tracks Stephen down with ease, doesn't even have to ask FRIDAY to know he'll find him in the rarely-used den. It's a small, cozy space with chairs you can get lost in. Stephen is nestled in one of these chairs, casual in soft, worn jeans, a t-shirt, and cardigan with an unnecessarily large tome balanced in his lap. Tony knows that he knows he's there, even though he doesn't so much as glance his way. The cloak, of course, has vacated the area, knowing precisely what Tony is up to.

Tony sprawls out in a chair near Stephen like he's just there by happenstance. His eyes are sharp and shrewd, taking careful inventory of Stephen's falsely relaxed posture, the way the muscles in his arms are tense, his foot twitching against the floor, and the minute crease between his eyebrows. He's purposely not addressing him but also not leaving. Tony bounces his foot in the air, a fidgety habit of late. “So you and Levi. You have a thing going?”

Stephen sighs abruptly and closes his book with a loud thump. “Tony,” he trails off, both a warning and a testament to his frustration as he shuts his eyes, nostrils flared.

He has to interject. Again, not patient. “So that's a yes, right?” He shifts forward in the seat a little. “See, I just figure I ought to know what I'm getting myself into here.”

Stephen's eyes have come open again, though they look faintly puzzled. “I.. what?” His brain isn't prepared for this conversation.

“Oh come on doc, don't pretend like this isn't trying to _go_ somewhere.” He makes broad, vague hand gestures as though it will help to clarify his point. It doesn't.

“Darling, I've no idea what you're on about.”

“That's exactly what I mean. _Darling_.”

Stephen gets an unusual, introspective look. Tony _knows_ he's not wrong as he watches Strange struggle through his thoughts. The man sniffs and banishes his book away. “Very well.”

Tony sits up properly now, leaning in his chair towards Stephen, his attention fully focused. He gives him a chance to speak, sees it's not forthcoming and decides to fill the silence. “The way I see it, a guy doesn't just move himself in to a guy's house just because he's looking to be _friends_.”

“I've _told_ you why I'm here. More than once if I recall.”

“Sure, sure. I remember. And I appreciate that. I think.” He scratches at his sideburns, considering and defensive. “But my opinion stands. You don't need to live with someone to keep an eye on them.” He's moved on to stroking his facial hair before splaying out a hand toward Stephen like he's apologetic. “Sorry if I don't trust that easily.”

“I don't expect you to, Tony.” Stephen pinches the bridge of his nose. “I was trying to distance myself but I couldn't ignore you driving yourself into the ground.”

Tony's face scrunches up; yeah he had been doing that, nosediving, he can't dispute that. He scrubs his hands over his face, digs his fingers into his closed eyes. “Yeah alright, but I don't understand what you were trying to distance yourself _from_. We fought together. End of story.”

“I don't have an easy way to explain it to you.” Stephen looks _tired_ , absolutely drained.

“You keep saying that too.” Fine. He shelves that topic for reassessment at a later date, can tell he won't make any headway now. “Tell me about you and Levi then.”

Stephen sighs but doesn't seem to balk at the subject. “There's really not much to tell, Stark. The cloak chose me when I was still quite new to the mystic arts. It's a faithful friend.”

Tony actually knows most of this but he lets him go. At least he's speaking. He's nearly holding his breath to keep his questions at bay.

He must be able to tell because Stephen fixes him with a _look_ and admonishes, “I know what you want. I'll get there.” Shaking his head, he settles back in to regale some of their, to quote Tony, magical adventures. He tells about the cloak helping him, offering it's invaluable insight and guiding him to the wisest courses of action. He tells of it saving his life. Of comforting him when he's stuck dwelling on what he's lost and snarking at him for forgetting what he's gained.

"It fell out as naturally as any words could. The way the thing sashayed around in the air, bold, unashamed. I said, ‘My sexy red, you are the finest friend I've had in years.’ and it just kind of froze there. I think I surprised it, imagine that. I surprised myself come to think of it. But it figured out what I'd said and about knocked me to the ground. It didn't let me up until I said it again.” The fondest look warms his face.

Transfixed, Tony watches Strange, mildly alarmed at the feeling in his chest. It's reminiscent of heartburn and butterflies. He rubs at the mass of scar tissue absently. “That sounds like the cloak I know,” he murmurs.

Stephen just hums his agreement. “So, when we're alone and the cloak is especially feisty, I call him my Sexy Red. He gropes and flirts and it's become.. kind of a thing.” He trails off a little lamely.

He swallows past the lump in his throat. “Is it sexual then? This thing? Or just sass and touches and affection?”

Of course he saw this question coming. It's Tony Stark, what else was he to expect? Still, he takes his time, wishing the best words would present themselves. They don't. He settles for a simple, “Sometimes, yes.” Tony could get his details later.

Mind buzzing with new information, Tony fidgets, fingers drumming against his leg. He wants to know more, needs to really, but Stephen seems done. That's fine, he can scrounge up enough patience for this. Stephen deserves it after all he's shared. He shifts the topic, hopefully just enough to give the man a break. “Does the cloak want that with me then?” Yeah maybe not enough of a change.

It doesn't seem to bother Stephen as much as he thought it might. Instead he looks calculating, thoughtful, touching his facial hair. “I wouldn't be surprised.” There's something mischievous in the way his mouth crooks at the corner. “Is that something you want?”

Tony doesn't so much as bat an eye. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is slower going than I anticipated for something intended to be a little-to-no-plot smut piece. Hope y'all are enjoying the ride with me. (:


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks right up where we left off!

Stephen has calmly risen, dropped a kiss on his head and walked right out of the room before Tony can so much as register what he's doing. It makes that heartburn feeling intensify. He flops back into the chair with a groan, fighting the urge to follow the man like a puppy.

 

* * *

 

He stops trying to talk to the cloak about its thing with Strange, it just flutters away like an embarrassed child when he does. It stays close as it had been but seems to spend increasingly more time away. Perhaps with Stephen. He's not actually confirmed it. He had been monopolizing its time, it was bound to happen. And he's not having nearly as many breakdowns these days.

It does seem to push him to Stephen though, little nudges and hints and guiding. He wonders if it does the same to Stephen. The man doesn't seem to be avoiding him anymore. He's rarely in the bed when he wakes, but always appears soon after, often with coffee or snacks. He invades the workshop while he's tinkering, sometimes to talk, sometimes to help, and sometimes just to be. Those casual touches have started up again though they seem slower, lingering. It makes Tony's toes curl some days.

That's precisely what happens when Stephen skims his fingertips down the curve of his spine as he steps away. His hand is reaching to grab Stephen's before he can even think about it. “Hey.” He tugs the man closer. There's no resistance, he's caught him by surprise if those beautiful wide eyes are any indication. Good.

He brings his other hand up to Stephen's neck, plays with the short strands there while he looks. There's almost no volume to the words as he mouths, “Come here?”

Stephen touches a hand to Tony's waist and lets gravity pull him in. The kiss is slow, well telegraphed in case Tony changes his mind. He doesn't.

His experience shows; he kisses like a dream. But then Stephen already knew that. Good heavens, how he's missed it. He suckles softly on Tony's bottom lip. “Yes?”

Tony's eyes have gone dark. He has no words, just pulls Stephen's mouth back to his. Good lord, why has he waited so long to kiss this man properly? His mind helpfully supplies, _because you're an utter mess of a human being_. Yeah okay. But isn't that all the more reason to shove his tongue down his throat? _Not when you're freaking the hell out all the time_. Tony groans from a combination of his own thoughts and sensation of Stephen sucking on his tongue. He wants to climb him like a tree. Now.

He manages some self control and _doesn't_ hook his legs around him like some crazy squirrel after a nut. What he _does_ do is press in close.

Stephen's hand quakes but he maneuvers until their fingers are threaded together.

The sincerity of the motion makes Tony's heart skip. He breaks the kiss, panting, to look at their joined hands. His chest feels tight, though it may have something to do with the way his breaths are coming faster.

His brows draw together as he notices Tony starting to hyperventilate. He squeezes Tony's hand and touches his face. “Tony,” his voice is a low, grounding rumble that seems to draw the man's attention. “Tony breathe. Slower.” He presses their foreheads together, lets his breath out against Tony's face, coaxing him to match it. “That's it, sweetheart, you're okay.” A soft kiss to his nose.

Tony can feel tears on his face even as his breathing levels out. “Goddamnit.” His eyes close, but he just presses closer to Stephen. His moment of panic is fading and, with it, his energy. He can still feel the aftermath of his arousal but his libido is thoroughly shot.

He has no doubt that Stephen is aware of this, even before he asks him if he'd like to lie down.

He hides his face against the side of Stephen's throat but nods. Even that brief moment of anxiety has him drained.

Stephen doesn't say a word, just carefully leads them both to Tony's room. He helps him undress to his boxer briefs and socks, folds back the covers.

When he turns to let him rest, Tony's hand reaches out. In the smallest voice Stephen's ever heard out of the man, he utters, “Stay?”

He takes the offered hand, bends to kiss it. “Of course.” Already in soft house clothes, he slips into the bed behind Tony. The man grabs at him until he's curled up around him. Tony's hair tickles his nose where it's nuzzled, fluttering soft kisses to the back of his neck.

The way the man is politely keeping his hips angled away sparks a deep sense of mortification in him for having killed the mood. He doesn't know whether to say sorry for the panic or thank you for the comfort so he just keeps his mouth shut and nestles gratefully back into Stephen's warmth.

He's just dozing off, losing the battle against his heavy eyelids, when the cloak swoops in and carefully sprawls out over the top of them, tucking in at the sides.

Tony feels so very small but safer than he's felt in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who came out of hiding, little cloak <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally enlisted the help of a beta reader!
> 
> [meowrails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowrails/profile) has reviewed in-character-ness and overall content.
> 
> [ShinpeiHolic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinpeiHolic/profile) gave input on how they story flows.

When he wakes, Stephen and Levi are both still with him. He can't tell how long they've all been there. It could've been an hour or all night. The cloak seems to notice that he's awake and it gently pets his face with a corner of the collar. It drifts close enough to his mouth that he can just turn his head and press a grateful kiss to the fabric. The cloak wiggles minutely over him. It's pleased, he thinks.

Tony slowly rolls to face Stephen. The man stirs but slips right back into sleep. He watches his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, admiring the sharp line of his cheekbone, the curve of his lips.

He is so screwed.

He squirms closer, burying his face in Stephen's front. There's a small rush of breath as the man wakes. He feels guilty for disturbing him but Stephen simply drapes an arm over him and pulls him closer with an indistinct mumble. It's so easy to press his lips to Stephen's chest. He kisses and kisses, slow and lazy, barely moving until he's asleep again.

 

* * *

 

Stephen wakes first to the sunlight filtering in. His legs stretch, long and languid. Tony is in his arms, still facing him. He takes the opportunity to revere the man's features, relaxed and elegant in the new light. There's a little new growth in his beard, marring the perfectly neat lines. It's remarkably charming but he knows Tony wouldn't believe him if he told him. Unsteady fingers trace the shell of the man's ear, down the side of his neck. He watches the resulting shiver spread throughout.

Tony wakes slowly to a gentle thrill of pleasure singing across his skin. There's a smile on his face before his eyes open into Stephen's. Anything he might have thought to say dies on his tongue. Stephen's eyes are soft but so very intense. His heart rate is immediately ticking faster. He wants this man so terribly it hurts. Tony pushes Stephen to lie back and swings a leg over him to settle on top, looking a little apprehensive but sweetly kissing his lips.

His hands settle on Tony's hips steadying and grounding, hot points of contact. He hums softly into the kiss, happy to oblige. He wants nothing more than to rut up into him; he settles for shifting beneath him, angling his hips for a little pressure. He knows Tony can feel him and, hell, he hopes he isn't going to send him into panic again.

He can feel Stephen's interested dick against his ass. The sensation has him feeling like the bottom of his stomach is dropping out from under him and it's like the best thrill of a rollercoaster, like flying in his suits. He wants that inside him. He's never had great self control but he clings to it now. He won't mess this up. Tony just kisses and touches and teases his weight against Stephen's erection like he's shy about wanting it so badly. He kind of is. Stephen, bless him, doesn't push at all, just accepts everything Tony is ready to give him. But Tony's ready to give _more_. He sits up, slowly, holding the bulk of his weight away from Stephen's groin. “I - I'm going to shower.” It's an abrupt announcement, a little awkward. He's a little more suave as he leans down to kiss the man again, “Don't go anywhere?” It comes out half an order, half a question.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Stephen's voice is rough with sleep and arousal and everything Tony loves. He watches silently as Tony delicately climbs off his lap and pads to the bathroom. He resists the urge to touch himself, just takes a few moments to meditate. The cloak shimmies above him, clearly excited just bring draped over the two of them. It trails a corner up the man's thigh and over his groin, teasing and a little coy before flashing what resembles a thumbs up at Stephen and fluttering away. Stephen scrubs a hand over his face; Tony is a horrible influence on Levi.

When Tony comes back, he's still wet from the shower, a towel low on his hips. Stephen's perched on the side of the bed and his mouth damn near waters as he watches Tony slink over. “Well hello,” he murmurs, his voice the closest approximation of a purr.

Tony approaches him a little slowly. There's a shyness to his step. His face is downturned as he gets close but his hands trace the waist of Stephen's pants. Except they're actually Tony's pants, he can see Stephen's ankle bones, the furthest part of his shins, very plainly on display. The realization makes him giddy and he lets his fingers hook into the elastic. He grins a little crookedly, “Hi _Stranger_.”

Stephen's sure he should be more exasperated at that than he presently is but, to be fair, he's also got a mostly naked Tony at his fingertips. He traces the contours of Tony's abdomen, down, down until he meets fluffy, damp towel.

A jolt of arousal warms low in his belly, reminding him of one significant detail. As much as Tony loves being the cause of a good surprise, he's never been particularly fond of letting this specific detail shock anyone. As whore-ish as he behaved in his youth, he'd always been strategic in selecting his partners. He's also proud of how proficient he’s become with his strap on over the decades but that's a tale for another time.

“Stephen, wait.” He holds a hand flat to the man's chest and grips his towel shut against wandering hands.

“I know." His hands retreat to a respectable distance but he stays right up in Tony's space. "Anthony, I know."

It's true, the details of his genitalia are not strictly a secret but it's easy for folks to forget when faced with a bearded man that there's _not_ a penis down there. He squints. “How?”

Stephen actually looks a little _ashamed_. And isn't that a look. “I know you.. better than I should.”

“Clearly. Cut the cryptic crap doc.” There's a low growl to his tone but he looks more devious than truly upset.

His eyes close a solid five seconds like he's questioning his life choices. When they open, they're surprisingly soft. “You recall the alternate futures?” He doesn't stop for confirmation; Tony could never forget. “There were so many of them, I saw a lot of you, of Peter, the guardians.” A pause. “Some of them I may have.. lingered longer than strictly necessary.”

“You _lingered_ long enough to learn what's in my pants?”

A crooked up-twitch of his lips prefaces the low rumble of his reply, “Does it really take that long?”

“Ohh-ho, I see how it is.” Tony's grinning like a cat that's gotten the cream, shimmying right up into Stephen's space. His head tilts a bit, eyebrow raising, “Seems like you have an unfair advantage.” His hands slip along his torso, clever fingers tracing folds and seams in the fabric.

Stephen's eyes close again, but this time from the sensation of Tony's hands on him, like it's been too long. Like his touch is the first rain after an endless drought, life-giving and breathtaking all in one. “Oh darling, I never do.” His hands fall to Tony's hips, light and quivering.

Tony goes on his toes and tugs Stephen down into a sweet, slow kiss. When hands move to pull his towel open again, he doesn't resist. The still-damp towel falls around his feet. Trembling hands come to touch his sides, tracing the curve of his waist. Tony ducks to hide his face against Stephen's throat, just for a moment. He feels so very exposed. This isn't usually something that trips him up but Stephen is so much more important to him than a quick fuck.

“Tony. Darling. Are you alright?” A soft kiss to Tony's temple. “Is this okay?”

Tony is nodding before he can push the words out. “Yeah.” His tongue feels thick. “I just uhh.. don't usually get naked around people that I'm intending to… continue seeing?” That sounds sad, even to his own ears.

Stephen forces his hands to still as he takes Tony's face in them. He meets his eyes with a soulfully earnest look. “Anthony. I love you as you are.”

The declaration makes his chest hurt. That doesn't stop the smug half grin as he ignores the edge of anxiety, “You love me?”

Perhaps he'd not meant to admit that quite so soon but maybe Tony needed to hear it. It doesn't make it any less true. “I do,” he affirms, placing a delicate kiss to the tip of Tony's nose.

Tony will never admit to the way he sways and melts against Stephen in response, his heartbeat ticking higher and higher against his ribs. His skin feels flushed and hot against the barrier of soft lounge clothes covering Stephen's flesh. He feeds his hands into his gray-streaked hair and pulls him in to kiss properly. He doesn't have the words to reply, not even smug, snarky ones.

Stephen's hands drop and slide around to trace his fingertips over the little indents at the small of Tony's back. They dip low enough to glance over the upper edge of his ass, surging forward to swallow the small gasp, even as his hands retreat again. Wet, open mouthed kisses leave a trail to Tony's ear, the side of his neck. “What do you want, love?”

He almost can't think, his hands in the gap he's made between the borrowed sweatpants Stephen is wearing and his shirt. His head falls back to let Stephen do absolutely anything he wants along his throat. “I want us to fuck.”

A wet stripe traced with his tongue along the shell of Tony's ear. “Who is fucking whom?”

“You're the one with a dick.”

“We shouldn't let that rule anything out.”

God help him, he might actually love this guy. “You should fuck me,” comes out more as a moan than proper words.

Stephen smiles, gently nibbling a collarbone. “How precisely would you like to accomplish that?”

This shouldn't make Tony anxious but none of this is within his norm. “My..,” he trips up, closes his eyes. He's throbbing so strongly between his legs that he has to press them together. “Want you to fuck my cunt.”

Stephen returns his focus to Tony's face, peppering it with kisses. It's both a reward and a reassurance. “Good boy, Tony. We can do that.” He pulls him flush against his body, finally, letting the hot line of his dick press into Tony's belly.

The contact alone has Tony keening. “Goddamn Doc.” He shoves his hands up the back of his shirt, needing more skin to touch as he falls back into kissing Stephen like a parched man after water. Stephen's nails scratch shaky, delicate lines across his back.

It's not long before Tony is dragging Stephen's shirt over his head. The sight he's granted is truly one to behold. He takes a moment to admire it then dives right in, mouthing along every line and ridge, tracing muscle and bone alike. He sucks and nibbles at various intervals, peppering the man's torso with pink marks. When he starts to go to his knees, hands working Stephen's pants down, the man pulls him up short.

He kisses Tony's mouth. “Next time, love. I want to last for you.”

Tony doesn't complain, just keeps pushing at the material until Stephen's cock is bobbing free. His eyes are dark and damn but he wants a taste. He ducks down long enough to give it a quick lick and that might've been a mistake because he instantly wants _more_. But he's good, does as Stephen wishes because he has to do something to deserve this.

Stephen steps free of his clothing, moves closer to Tony. One large hand cups his crotch, feeling the dampness there. He runs a single finger through his slit, kisses Tony like he's the most precious thing. He guides him to lie out on the bed, following to settle between Tony's legs. He licks a trail up one thigh, lets his breath ghost over his center. “Tony, honey. Is this still okay?”

The man in question whines, “I swear to god, if you're not eating me out in next five seconds, I'm going to implode, yes, this is fine!” He squirms impatiently and barely has the opportunity to twist his fingers into Stephen's hair before the man's tongue is tracing his labia, flicking over his clit once and retreating to press at his opening. “Jesus.” He sucks in a breath and writhes against the sheets.

He smiles into Tony's thigh. “Hmm, nope, just me.” He just laughs at the little smack that earns him.

“Ugh, now I know what it's like to have sex with myself.” The sad part is that he's only half kidding. Yeah, Tony's definitely guilty of throwing out those kinds of lines, so sue him. He lets himself get a little cocky, he's _good_ at sex.

It only makes Stephen laugh even harder, losing the suction he'd had on the juncture of Tony's thigh. “You know, we could actually do that. If you're into it.”

The look on Tony's face is something between disbelief and arousal. His face scrunches a little. “You're kidding.”

“Certainly not.”

The answering moan gives Stephen a shiver. “You're going to _kill me_.”

He kisses the hormone-enlarged mass of Tony clit. “Only a little.” With that, he delves in, plunging his tongue into Tony.

Stephen is going down on him in what is possibly the most thorough and passionate manner he's ever experienced. Most times he’s had sex, he was either wanted as a hole to fuck or a man to do the fucking. Why would anyone waste their time eating out a man's cunt? After all, it's hard for someone to ignore something with their face shoved right up in it.

Ohh, but he loves it. Teeth tease his labia and his thighs jolt. He can't stop the little muffled noises escaping from behind his hand.

“Tony, darling, please let me hear you.”

His hand falls away and with it a high gasp.

A firm lick across his clit. “How would you like to come on my tongue? Would you want that?”

“Yes, pl- !” he cuts himself off, hesitant to plead.

Stephen ignores it. Tony will come around. He redoubles his efforts, thrusting his tongue in, narrowed to a point, dragging it along the front wall in a way that drives Tony mad. Tony's thighs are closing in around his ears when he shifts his attention up to the man's clit. He sucks it into his mouth and proceeds to tongue it in a rhythm that presses his bearded face against his opening, facial hair scritching against delicate, flushed skin.

Tony goes still with a keening cry, holds there and then shatters apart, quaking against Stephen's face, desperately seeking more. He gets it, coming three times in quick succession, bless having the anatomy that he does sometimes, before pushing Stephen's face away, chest heaving with the effort of just fucking breathing.

He presses a gentle kiss to the inside of Tony's thigh, his face leaving a wet smear.

A shudder rolls though him, an aftershock of pleasure. “Get back up here.” He tugs weakly at Stephen.

He goes without complaint, pausing only to lave attention along Tony's torso, paying special attention to his chest. His teeth drag along his nipples, tugging gently at them. He traces the scars across his chest, both the ones from having his breasts removed and the ones from the shrapnel, the arc reactor.

Tony knows his chest has been through the wringer. He's well past being ashamed of any of those scars, but the attention still makes his breath stutter. They're usually just another thing for people to ignore.

Stephen's face comes level with Tony's, his beard still damp, reeking of sex. Tony licks his way into the man's mouth, welcoming the taste of himself. His dick rests heavy on Tony's hip and he's reminded of how badly he _wants_. He lets his legs fall open, more than they had been already. Stephen slots right in between his legs like he's meant to be there.

Callused hands skim up his back affectionate and exploring. He stops licking his own taste from Stephen's face long enough to say, “Thought you were gonna fuck me.”

“Who says I won't?” He shifts, lets his cock slip along Tony's stomach. “Do you want it like this?”

Tony moves, rolling against Stephen, rocking into him like he just can't help it. “Yeah, yes, sure. Mm, just want you inside of me.” His face is flushed a lovely pink.

“I will be, sweetheart, be patient.” He kisses his face. “Do you have condoms in here?”

Tony gives him the flattest look but doesn't stop moving. “Is that a question?” Stephen grins but doesn't answer. “Nightstand. Top drawer. Shouldn't you know that?” He kicks a playful foot after Stephen as he crawls over to the edge of the bed to dig through the drawer in question. Nevermind that the box is nearly fully and close to its expiration.

He returns with a condom and holds up a bottle of lube, “Do you want this?”

“Do I look like I need that?”

“That's not what I asked.”

Tony bites his lip. He does like things nice and slippery. Damn, Stephen probably knows that too. “Yeah, okay, use it,” he finally admits, pauses. “But I get to do this.” He snatches the condom from where it rests next to him.

Stephen kisses him again and sits up, thighs framing Tony's torso. He can't help touching himself, just a little, two slow strokes. “Be my guest.”

His mouth goes dry one moment and then floods with saliva the next. He still wants to get his mouth on him. But he wants him inside of him even more. Stephen had promised him next time. The fact that there's already a next time in mind has his insides squirming. He has to make sure Stephen is well aware, “I hope you know I'm blowing your brains out later.” One workshop-rough hand curls around Stephen's dick. It's relatively short and fat, a stark contrast to the spindly form of the man.

“Anything you want, love.” His voice is a little breathy, eyes fixed on Tony one handedly opening the condom like the damn pro he is.

He licks his hand, strokes Stephen a couple times, admiring the feel of him. Finally, he looks up, meets the man's dark, hooded eyes and ever so slowly rolls the condom down his length.

Stephen's eyes shut a moment, breath shuddering from his lips. He fumbles the bottle in his hand, manages to pop it open. His hands shake so strongly, he's not confident in his aim, hesitates. Tony's hand covers his, a steadying presence, offering guidance. The lube drizzles out over his length, to Tony's already slick entrance. The bottle is discarded but Tony's hands remain, holding his hand, curiously tracing the scars there.

Tony brings Stephen's quaking hand to his mouth, kisses each scarred knuckle, follows the lines with his tongue. They're beautiful hands, long-fingered and graceful. The scars serve to accentuate that and prove the strength of the man himself.

He leans in close, presses his lips to Tony's hands where they hold his own. “Thank you,” he says whisper quiet.

The sincerity makes Tony pause. Stephen must see the spark of nervousness in his eyes because he lets go and presses the tip of himself to Tony's entrance. When he opens his mouth to talk Tony cuts him off, “Yes, this is great, do it.”

Stephen shakes his head, huffs an amused breath and guides himself in, one long inexorable stroke. He doesn't catch even a little, just slips right in. Yeah, the lube was a good idea.

Tony breaths out, sighing like it's a relief to have Stephen's girth stretching him open. His legs go up to hook around Stephen's hips as the man starts a steady slide out and in. He hikes his own legs up higher, angling his body in search of just the right angle.

Stephen grips the back of his thigh, encouraging, loving the feel of his legs around him. His other hand touches one of Tony's where it's clutching the bed covers.

He's a little breathy when he warns, “Doc, you get sappy on me and you'll have an anxiety attack on your dick.” His head rolls back, body lengthening as he rides out the motion. He moans as Stephen changes tactics, still holding Tony's hand but pistoning into him with fervor. He'll fool him into accepting some gentleness with sex if he has to. Tony grips the hand in his like a lifeline.

There's a delicious pressure building in his pelvis, stoked like a fire in his belly by every thrust. He's so close he can taste it, shoves a hand down between them to rub himself off. His body jerks and clenches around Stephen, enough to knock the wind from his lungs.

The second his breath is back, he doubles down, moving at a swift pace after his own release. The air punches from his lungs, raspy and desperate as he comes, Tony still rippling around him.

Tony groans at the sensation of Stephen’s dick twitching inside of him. He instantly wishes the condom wasn't there, that he could feel the warm, wet feeling inside. It's a reflex, the way he clenches down every time it jerks in there.

Stephen slides out, fumbling to remove the condom and tie it off. It takes a painfully long time, Tony almost reaches for it to do it for him but the man manages as he decides to and tosses it away.

Tony looks after the condom with a look of disappointment, just feeling empty and cold, sweat cooling on his skin. He watches Stephen as he lands heavily on the bed next to him. A rumble grows in his throat, building up to words, “I hate those things.”

He rolls to face him, kisses his shoulder, “I know, I'm sorry.”

He's on his back still, just staring at the ceiling. He doesn't want to move but also feels like he's got something squirming in his stomach, beneath his skin. “Are you one of those guys that insists on a condom every time? Cause I've got contraceptives on board and I can prove that I'm clean.” Stick to sex. He can handle sex. One shaking hand lands on his chest and he can't take it. He rolls up, off the bed and stalks away to the ensuite. Tony gets the door shut behind him before he loses it, sliding to the floor, head in his hands as he starts hyperventilating.

Tony doesn't hear Stephen calling after him, following him, until there's a rapping at the door behind him. He gasps in a breath and lashes out at the door with a thud. His voice is high and panicked, breathless, “Damnit Strange, go away!”

Stephen has his face pressed to the door, his hands around the handle. “Tony.” He shouldn't've pushed it. His hands shake, rattling the door harder than he intends. He's so very tempted to portal into the room but he needs to respect Tony's space. He takes a deep breath, turns around so his back is to the door and sits against it. “Tony, I'm sorry,” he laments, sounding absolutely drained. There's a soft thud of his head against the door as he slumps down to wait.


End file.
